Baldur's Gate
Baldur’s Gate This port city is both shelter and lifeline for the folk of the Coast. It is the only place to buy many luxury goods and offers the discerning shopper the widest selection of goods anywhere in the Sword Coast region though usually at prices higher than those in Waterdeep or coastal Amn. Baldur’s Gate is a tolerant but wellpoliced city of merchants, and quiet business as usual is the general order of each day. Baldur’s Gate, Berdusk, Neverwinter, and Silverymoon are probably the safest settlements in all western Faerun. In Baldur’s Gate, the watch wears distinctive black helms with a vertical red stripe on either side, if you have problems. Not only are the members of the watch vigilant, enthusiastic, wise, and observant, but the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company, over a thousand strong, is based in the city. Every tenth person or so is a member or a watch agent (well, spy) of the Fist, skilled in battle and within a breath or two of numerous armed allies. The visitor can freely stroll and shop. If you can’t carry all you buy, or need help to find your way, guides and porters can be hired at most street corners. These husky youths are known as lamp boys or lamp lasses because they carry lanterns at night to light the way for their patrons. Landmarks Baldur’s Gate curves like a great hand or crescent moon around its harbor. Crescent moon is the term used by its resident minstrels, who tend to be brassy-voiced tenors and delightfully smoky altos, depending on their gender, but hand describes it better. The fingers of the hand are the many docks and wharves that jut out into the harbor. A bridge from the western shore links the mainland with a rocky islet on which perches the old, massive Seatower of Balduran, which is used as a barracks, naval base, dungeon, and fortress. It has a full armory and catapults to battle hostile ships, and a massive chain can be stretched from it to the outermost wharf on the east side to bar the harbor to invaders. The harbor boasts no less than four dry-dock slips for boat building and repair, complete with ox-driven pumps. The shipping facilities, I’m told, are among the best in all Faerûn. They feature modern warehouses, movable lamps and cranes, and tight security. Around the harbor rises a crowded, but clean and prosperous, city. Everything is of stone and is usually wet with either rain, sleet, or fog, depending on the time of day and season. This makes the streets slippery, makes the musk and mushrooms Baldurians grow in their cellars flourish, keeps the flowers and plants that are grown in hanging baskets everywhere greenand makes mildew and mold a constant problem. If it afflicts you, see Halbazzer Drin on Stormshore Street. He’s a gruff old wizard who has made his fortune with a spell that banishes mildew (12 gp per casting), 8 and another that drives all moisture from things without harming them (10 gp per glamer). Despite fantastic offers of gold, gems, and magic from Calishite, Amnian, and other interests, he does not sell scrolls of these spells or reveal the incantations to others. Buildings in Baldur’s Gate tend to be tall and narrow, with slit windows located high up and covered with shutters to block winter winds and nesting seabirds alike. Tall among them rises the grandly spired ducal palace of the four ruling Grand Dukes, known as the High Hall. A place for feasts, court hearings, and administrative business, it boasts a dozen meeting rooms that all citizens can wander in and use to conduct businessunless someone else is already using them. To discourage the miserly from using these as permanent places of business, there’s a rule forbidding anyone who entered one of the rooms today from using it tomorrow. Not far from the palace stands the High House of Wonders, consecrated to Gond. It is the largest of the Gate’s three temples. It is a perilous place for the curious; it has been the site of many an explosion and violent self-disassembly of sacred artifacts (which the faithful call apparati). Its spreading eastern wings face the Hall of Wonders, also on Windspell Street, where the more successful of Gond’s inventions are displayed to the public. The wrist of the gigantic hand that is Baldur’s Gate is marked by the Black 9 Dragon Gate, or Landward Gate, and its surrounding sprawl of slums, paddocks, cut-rate inns, and stockyards, all of which lie outside the city walls. Not far from the Hall of Wonders, near the Black Dragon Gate, and so near the wrist of Baldur’s Gate, is the Wide. This huge open space is the Gate’s market. It bustles by day and night, and is usually open spacewise only in the sense that there are no buildings. Temporary stalls, bins, sale tables, and the shoppers thronging to them usually crowd shoulder to shoulder. Deliveries here are often made by tall, strong folk striding through the crowds with tall poles strapped to their chests or backs at the top of which, over an adult human’s height aloft, are cribs and crates full of goods. Prices are lower here than elsewhere in the Gate, but business is apt to be sharper. Among the more common vendors of silks, scarves, tobacco, and spices from the farthest reaches of the Shining South are masters of tattooing and disguise, and several minor wizards who specialize in spells that temporarily arrange a client’s hair into intricate patterns, cause areas of the body to glow or to adhere to certain scraps of garment or pieces of jewelry, alter skin and hair hue, and even cause scents to wax, wane, or move around the bodysometimes accompanied by radiances. These artisans come and go with the seasonsand, I’m told, the approach of creditors or bounty hunters acting 10 for far-off authorities. Among the more permanent of these artisans are Lonthalin Mintar and Talessyr Tranth. Outside the Wide, Baldur’s Gate lacks colorful landmarks. The everpresent damp discourages the use of banners, open shops, and the like. Windowboxes support trailing flowers of all sorts. Strolling minstrels, consisting usually of a singer playing a lute or hand harp accompanied by a flutist who also carries a hand drum and occasionally joins in on a chorus, provide another source of color. The Gate has few formal festivals. The largest is the Breaking, commemorating the last passage of ice from the harbor approaches every spring. The Gate does, however, have a custom of holding quiet street chatter sessions known as cobble parties in particular spots. They are named after the cobblestones that surface most of the streets. These parties are always marked by the use of rose-red torcheswhich can be bought in several city shops, notably Felogyr’s Fireworks (run by Felogyr Sonshal) on Bindle Street set in wall brackets along the street where the party is held. Baldurians frown on the drunken and debauched. These open-air fests tend to be tale-telling sessions, marked by a clutter of barrels, crates, and stools dragged into the street for folk to sit on while they talk. Those wishing to overindulge in drink and in the company of the opposite sex are directed to the Undercellar, a little-known, damp, dark warren of linked cellars entered just off the Wide, with exits to 10 alleyways or more, and to the Low Lantern, a ship that cruises the harbor at night while festivities are going on both above and below decks. Daring citizens like to celebrate their marriage nights in the rigging of this vessel while perched precariously aloft or hanging over the night-dark waves from various ropes and sail booms. I’ve haven’t rated the Undercellar or the Lantern because I haven’t tried them. The Undercellar is said to be reasonably priced but rather squalid and shady Many folk like to go masked when enjoying themselves there. The Lantern is said to be noisy, fun, and expensive, with drinks dearer than in some of Waterdeep’s haughtiest establishments. Baldur’s Gate is otherwise a pleasant but unremarkable city to stroll about in. Cats are everywhere raised to keep down the shipborne verminbut there’s nary a dog to be seen. Livestock and mounts are kept outside the city in order to ensure maximum cleanliness. Hall of Wonders Museum and Shop - The Hall is dimly lit by stationary, enchanted glowing globes and is staffed by ever-watchful priests of Gond. It is crowded with gleaming mechanisms that represent the more successful (safest) inventions devised for the greater glory of Gond Wonderbringer, god of artifice, craft, and construction. The gleaming black double doors of the Halland of the High House, its parent temple, which faces it across Windspell Street levitate in midair by the power of Gond. (The power of Gond in this case is actually extremely potent spells that can be canceled in case of attack, toppling the titanic slabs onto hostile folk who are trying to get in.) These doors on both buildings bear gleaming white, many-toothed wheels the symbol of Gond which turn about clockwise slowly and continuously by themselves. This high-pillared stone hall displays the grandest glories of Gond to the faithful and the curious alike for an entrance fee of 4 sp. Its cellars contain replicas of the wonders on display. These can be purchased by the very rich. Folk come from afar to see the marvels here. Many go away thoughtful, determined to devise similar artifices of their own and save themselves the awesome prices charged by the clergy of Gond. The Hall has held many marvels over the years. Currently on display are many small devices and a few large pieces. Many of the small devices seem to be locks or strongboxes so devised as to look like something else, from goblets to statues to chairs. The larger items include a mechanical scribe, a steam dragon, a pump of Gond, an everlight, a fan chair, and a farseer. Unless one has been to the Hall, some or all of these items are undoubtedly unfamiliar, so I will attempt to describe them and their functions briefly A mechanical scribe is a handset type printing press. A steam dragon is a steam engine with fittings that render it capable of moving large objects along a continuous path by means of pulleys, of pumping water, of operating a lift up a cliff or wall by means of a continuous rope, of rowing a barge, and so on. A pump of Gond is a muscle-powered pump, worked by pedaling a flywheel, for use in farm irrigation and in filling bilges and reservoirs. An everlight is a system of self-filling oil lamps fed from a central oil tank. A fan chair is an adjustable reclining chair that can be rocked, operating a fan to cool the sitter. And, finally, a farseer is a seeing glass with a series of tinted and graduated glass lenses that enable it to be used for viewing tiny things up close, viewing sights as far away as the horizon, or focusing the heat of the sun so as to ignite or melt things. The visitor will be left alone to marvel over such things. Unless one tries to damage, move, or tamper with a device, or states a clear and serious intent to purchase, the priests are far too busy fending off ever-present, awe-eyed gnomeswho travel to the Hall daily to gawk tirelessly at the wonders thereto speak to visitors. The Prices The rating of the Hall refers to its entrance fee only. The prices charged for the replicas are another matter altogether. The devices on display in the main Hall are the work of priests, who duplicated original prototypes, and the originals aren’t for sale under any circumstances. The prices of replicas for sale are currently as follows: Locks: 5 gp to 50 gp, depending on difficulty of breaking or picking, and what they’re hidden in or shaped as. Strongboxes: 10 gp to 60 gp, for the same reasons. Fan Chair: 50 gp to 300 gp, depending on design, size, and finish. Fan chairs are much in demand among nobles and the rich all over Faerûn during the warmer months. Mechanical Scribe: 750 gp. Steam Dragon: 9,000 gp (fittings 1,000 gp extra, each). Steam Dragonet (small version of the Steam Dragon): 4,500 gp (fittings 500 gp extra, each). Pump of Gond: 200 gp. Everlight: 400 gp for two lamps, plus 50 gp per additional lamp thereafter. Farseer: 250 gp. The Hall also sells fine parchment in blank rolled scrolls (10 gp each) and in sheets 4 handwidths across by 10 in length (1 gp each). Those willing to wait a tenday after ordering (and prepaying!) can have a bound book of 50 parchment sheets for 100 gp. Books with gilded edges, with latches, or of different sizes take longer and cost more. Elfsong Tavern - Tavern This tavern is the local watering hole, meeting place, and hiring fair for adventurers. A popular destination for pirates and outlaws on the loose in the Coast lands, it is a place the watch turns a blind eye toward, unless rowdiness and battle erupt. Those wishing to fence stolen goods, hire unusual folk for unrespectable tasks, and hear tall tales of daring adventure often come here and stay late. The Place Decorated by a stuffed baby beholder over the bar (the smallest eye tyrant I’ve ever seennot that I’ve seen man. I’ll grant), this place is dimly lit by many wandering, blue-hued driftglobes, and is furnished with many stout, knifescarred wooden chairs and tables, curtained off with tapestries that provide privacy. Gossips should beware, as this is visual privacy only.) The ground floor is devoted to a taproom that serves melted cheese sandwiches (spiced or unspiced, as you prefer), pickles, and fist-sized twists of dried herringand drinks, of course. As you might guess, all the food is highly salted to make you drink more. Several dark, twisting stairs lead up to private meeting rooms that can be rented by the candle (the time it takes a short taper to burn down) or an evening. Those with enemies are warned that the dimness on the stairs has concealed many a seeking knife thrust or poisoned hand crossbow bolt. This tavern is named for an unusual haunting a ghostly female elven voice, heard from time to time all over the establishment. It isn’t loud, but can be heard clearly everywhere, and is both beautiful and achingly mournful. It often moves hardened soldiers, who can’t understand a word of the archaic elven tongue used, to tears. Some, even though they have to drink away the melancholy it brings, come here solely in hopes of hearing it. The deaf and the insensitive are warned that anyone who talks, sings, or makes undue noise during the customary hush that falls over the tavern while the ghostly voice sings her sad lament is liable to be struck down with deadly speed by the nearest regular patron. Elves hearing the song for the first time are often stunned. By tradition, they are silently served a free tallglass of elverquisst by the bartender. has concealed many a seeking knife thrust or poisoned hand crossbow bolt. A first-timer of any race and either sex who breaks down into tears upon hearing the song is usually embraced and comforted by the nearest regular patron. After hearing the song, the current owner of the tavern, the halfelven maid Lady Alyth Elendara, bought the place for 50,000 gp from an aging warrior who placed only one condition on the sale: that he be allowed to sit in the tavern all the night hours so that he could hear the haunting song as often as he desired. The bargain was met, although the old man has since died. No one is sure just who the elven singer isalthough it’s clear she’s singing a lament for a lover lost at seaor how the haunting came to be. Some sporadic attempts by various clergy to banish the phenomenon have failedand anyone foolish enough to try an exorcism today is likely to make the sudden sharp acquaintance of a bristling roomful of sailors’ blades. Patrons can and are expected to go armed when in the Elfsong, and the known rule is that all beings need to protect their own backs except when the sad lady’s singing. By tradition, music of any sort is not sung or played in the tavern. The ghostly lady has the entertainment to herself. The Provender The fare, as aforementioned, is simple open-faced malt bread and melted cheese sandwiches, sprinkled with dill, nutmeg, or powdered spices of your choice; whole pickles (heavy on the garlic); and handful-sized chunks of pressed, dried salt herring. Lady Alyth also makes a thick stew that is beloved by many sick or chilled sailors. She keeps a cauldron on simmer all the time and throws all the food leavings into it, boils beef bones and assorted shellfish in it, and pours in all the wine dregs and soured ale. Some folk in Baldur's Gate swear by it, and visit the Elfsong just to drink a mug or bowl when they’d otherwise never enter a place where such rough and rowdy lowlifes drink. The Prices Ale is 2 cp per tankard (large, battered pewter things, not meager cups), stout is 4 cp per tankard, and all wine (a small and anonymous selection is offered) is 5 cp per tallglass. Rollrum (dark, licorice laced drink from the Tashalar, with a cool, minty aftertaste) is 1 sp per flagon, and is an acquired tasteone that most seafaring patrons seem to have acquired quite well, thank ye. All servings of provender are 1 sp, except stew. This price only covers a mug of stew. A large bowl is 2 cp extra. Most patrons will find a serving of something is about half a meal. Travelers’ Lore Lady Alyth operates an unofficial bank for her patrons. Those who use this service are mainly sailors dabbling in shady business who’ve no safe place to hide their takings and no good reason for having made so much coin. Rumors abound of many wildly different places she hides the money and the ways she guards it, but inquiries on this topic are not welcome. The Blade and Stars Inn This inn is named for its enchanted signboard, looted from a ruined village in Amn after a long-ago trade war. It’s a large black sign displaying a curved saber held by a delicate, longfingered female human hand. The sign is enspelled so that stars wink and slowly drift around the blade over the dark surface. The inn itself is less exciting, but still a good, safe, clean, pleasant place to stay The Place The Blade is a long, tall building with attached stables and kitchens on one side and balconies opening out of upper rooms on the other. It rises four floors above the street, and its furnishings are clean and fairly new. There’s a small lounge off the front lobby for guests to meet citizens in, but it lacks a table. The Prospect Service in the Blade is curt but swift Vigilant stairwatchers on staff keep track of guests’ comings and goings, discouraging street thieves and even dopplegangers, who are a growing though unreported problem in cities all over Faerûn. Your stay is apt to be quiet and unremarkable, unless your demeanor makes it otherwise. Rowdy or reckless guests are firmly warned, onceand if something else happens, firmly asked to leave. The Provender Meals are served in guests’ rooms rather than in a dining room, so the fare is never better than lukewarm but as it’s simple ale, bread, and fish, this is little loss. Bread can be ordered spread with herbed cheese or melted eggs (both surprisingly good). On cold nights, the proprietor, Aundegul Shawn, serves ruby cordial on requesta sweet, syrupy concoction of cherries dissolved in sugared red wine. It’s nice, once you’re used to the rawness it leaves in the throat. The Prices Rooms, including bath, stabling and meals, are 3 gp per night. A guest can order three servings of food a day, but it’s always the same repast Cordial is 4 cp per goblet. Ale is 3 cp per tankard. One tankard of ale is free with each meal, and a guest can purchase two extra a daythose requesting more will be told to find a tavern. Travelers’ Lore Local legend says a female yuan-ti is walled up in the inn, frozen in midbattle by a desperate (and long-gone) wizards spell. When he dies, she’ll be released. The Blushing Mermaid The Mermaid is known up and down the Coast lands as a meeting place in which to conduct illicit business for folk who are dangerous or criminals. It is a noisy, brawling establishment. I can recommend it only to those who go well armed, know how to use their weapons, and bring lots of loyal friends with similar skills. The Mermaid is a long, low, ramshackle place with a confusing maze of wings, outbuildings, stockaded enclosures, and stables surrounding it on three sides the better to give cover to those trying to approach or leave unseen, most Baldurians say. It has at least four levels of cellars many more, some say and rumors abound of secret passages, or even connections to an underground stream or sewer connecting with the harbor. Rooms at the Mermaid are low ceilinged, dingy, and apt to be furnished with mismatched pieces that have seen better days. In general, they are loot-and-salvage pieces that have seen heavy use since their installation here. The overall effect is of a rather dangerous but endearingly cluttered cellar, decorated with the flotsam of a hundred shipwrecks. The Mermaid is apt to be noisy throughout the night. Those who aren’t sound sleepers are advised to seek lodgings elsewhere. All rooms have iron bar shuttersif they have windows at alland heavy wooden beam double bars on the inside. They’re there to be used, folks. The lobby is the only highceilinged room in the place, except the stairwell to the two upper floors. A life-size and crudely carved wooden mermaid hangs overhead above the reception desk. The nearly nude mermaid’s body is covered with a score or more shriveled and blackened severed hands. If asked about them, the staff will smile and tell you that they were er, donated by folks who forgot to pay their bills.4 The desk has its own trophy a huge broad axe buried deep in the wood. Be warned that the axe can easily be snatched up out of the deep cleft it caused long ago and hurled with speed and accuracy across the lobby by the balding, bearded, hairy-armed clerk who looks like a walking cask! The Prospect - The visitor will find in the Mermaid an astonishing collection of smooth tongued, scarred old sea dogs nursing drinks at all hours. Each one is a contact person for this or that cabal, thieving brotherhood, smuggler, mercenary band, fence, panderer, or other shady professional interest. Negotiations with such contacts usually consist of a nasty grin and a case of temporary deafness until at least a silver piece is given themwhereupon they recall their voice, hearing, and manners, and inquire as to your own fortune. If pleasantries proceed as far as your requesting a need or desire for something or someone, the sea dog will examine the ceiling, tell it how much such information is likely to cost (1 to 5 gp, usually 2 gp), and slide over his empty tankard for payment. Once he’s satisfied the coins you’ve dropped into it are of good quality, he’ll tell you what you want to know and arrange a meeting, or send you to a contact who can. I report all this secondhand, of course! A stay at the Mermaid is apt to be quite safe, so long as one avoids battle and does nothing overly insulting or stupid. (Some sharp-tongued killers like to taunt and goad other guests to see if they can get a fight out of them.) The proprietors, who are unknown and never seen, have instructed their staff to make the House a relatively safe, neutral ground for all patrons, whatever their race, past, or profession. It’s better for business that way. The Provender Meals at the Mermaid are of two sorts: elaborate food, brought in to order from nearby eateries, and food prepared on the premises. The brought-in food is usually good and of generous portions, but not overly warm by the time it reaches you. The fare prepared at the Mermaid is of the simple but good and filling variety, except for a truly vile salted small fish stew. This stew consists of various rotting baitfish boiled with sea salt and seaweed, and even smells disgusting. Many sailors order only bread spread with drippings (crusty nutbread rolls with thick organ meat gravy ladled over them) or handwheels of cheese, but the Mermaid’s kitchen also produces a splendid pork, thyme, and mushroom platter. The most commonly ordered meal is ale, bread, and fish. Some patrons also like small squid pickled in vinegar, which I find revolting from three rooms away! Sailors have prodigious appetites. It’s not uncommon to look across the dining room at the Mermaid and not see several diners. They’re entirely hidden by the roasts set in front of them! Whole roast pigs are another favorite dish. It seems most seafolk are sick of marine edibles by the time they reach land, but land-treading travelers and sailors long ashore often order literal heaps of oysters, clams, or mussels and attack them with a knife. Hairy-chested men (those foolish enough to risk diseases and parasites) often eat the shellfish rawand a crazed few like to shell them alive from a saltwater basin and devour them still squirming! I managed to get a single (thankfully more widely appealing in nature) recipe from the cooks, as is shown on the scrap on the following page. Beer at the Mermaid is sea ale (thicker and more bitter than most tongues find enjoyable), stout, and a light, golden-hued lager from Mintarn. No wines are available, but one can get whisky strong and smoky enough to strip paint or tar from wood. It brings tears to the eyes of most who drink it, and probably worse things to their insides! The Prices - Rooms are 2 gp per night, stabling included. Food for mounts is an extra 3 cp each. No tenday room rate or bathing facilities are available. All food and drink is extra. A platter of fish, bread, and drippings is 2 cp, and meat dishes are all 3 cp per platter. Heaps of shellfish are 1 gp per serving, and whole roasts are 3 gp each. Ale is 3 cp per tankard, and whisky is 1 sp per tallglass (with no larger measure prices). Travelers’ Lore Predictably, fourscore tales of treachery, hidden treasure, secret passages, and trapped chests swirl around the Mermaid. It’s impossible to tell how many are pure fabrication or have grown wildly in the telling. Stolen or illegal items are definitely hidden quickly and well here for a fee. The Helm and Cloak Inn/Feast House - This grand inn, rooming house, and feasting house is favored by those who’ve lots of coins to spareboth citizens of the Gate, who enjoy the dining room, and travelers. There’s even a floor of long-term rental rooms. Most of these are currently occupied by members of the Knights of the Unicorn, romantic adventurers described by a regular patron as elegant buffoons. The Helm is the fashionable place to dine and chat, much favored by those of power. Many an important business deal or alliance has been negotiated in its luxurious alcoves. The Helm avoids the haughty and gaudy unerringly choosing the best of informal good taste, traditional furnishings, and thoughtful service, such as a warmed robe and slippers brought to your room when you’re heard to rise in the morn. The Place The Helm is actually two connected buildings. The smaller is an old house fronting on Windspell Street at the crossroads facing the Ducal Palace. The larger structure is an old rooming house that faces the High House of Wonders. A tattered cloak hangs displayed over the old rooming house’s raised porch, whereas a gigantic helm once worn by a titan, senior staff tell guests who ask, albeit drylyoverhangs the Windspell Street doors. The Provender Food at the Helm means jellied eels, fresh fish in hot lemon sauce, glazed and stuffed fowl, and fried and candied meats. The fried onion-andspiced-tubers stuffing is especially delectable. It’s all cooked in wine, served by the platter, and is uniformly fine. The wine cellar is huge in both amount and variety. Those with a taste for Saerloonian glowfire are warned that the resident Knights are apt to order entire barrels of the stuff up to their rooms of evenings. Ask early to make sure there’s enough for your glass. There’s also mead (very ordinary) and cinnamon-spiced milk available (hot or cold, as you prefer), but no beer of any sort to be had. We’re not running a tavern, m’lord, one of the senior servants said to me, when I inquired why. The Prices Mead and milk are 5 cp per glass, and wine is 3 gp per tallglass, 10 gp per great goblet (a huge silver flagon that holds about a bottle), or 25 gp per hand cask. The Knights pay 50 gp per barrel, but anyone else trying to order such a large container will be told that only long-term residents are allowed to place such demands on the cellar. All platters are 10 gp. Rooms are 17 gp to 25 gp per night, depending on size and location. The room fee includes a hot bath, a cloth-mending and dressing service, and as much mint water as desired. Stabling is extra, and costs 3 gp per night per animalbut the hostlers are among the finest in Faerûn, able to spot and treat injuries and conditions, and attentive to a beast’s every want. Think of it as a luxury stay for your mount when you pay for it, and the coins leave your hand more easily. Of course, you wouldn’t be here at all if you didn’t have the shining metal to spare. Travelers’ Lore The house part of the Helm was once the home of a priestess of Sune, and its ceiling paintings of scenes of unbridled pleasure and passion have raised more than a few eyebrows. These paintings still cause lamps to be lifted today by those who’d like to get a better lookso as to elevate their brows farther. There are persistent rumors of elegantly furnished garret chambers reached by secret passages, but the staff refuses to answer queries on this subject. It is true that the staff has quickly hidden notorious guests on several occasions guests that in some cases were never seen again. The rooming house part of the Helm has some treasure rumors, too (the hidden loot of retired pirates, of course). Three Old Kegs - This cozy timber-and-stone inn has three old kegs hanging from a roofpole on chains rather than a signboard. Those bold or whimsical enough to enter in and stay will find one of the best inns in all Faerûn. Everything is comfortable and a little shabby, but the staff is quietly friendly. Patrons are encouraged to take their ease all over the ground floor and the one above. It feels like you’re at homeassuming, of course, your home is a place where you can read or snooze at will, feet up on cushions as you lounge about in comfy old chairs and couches: Bliss! The Place - The Kegs has two levels of fieldstone cellars and two fieldstone floors above them. The uppermost cellar is given over to gaming rooms and connected to the ground floor by no fewer than three open staircases. The two uppermost floors (for six total floors) are timber, topped with a slate roof. All floors of the place are connected in one corner by a dumbwaiter shaft large enough for two folk pressed together to stand on the platform and ride up and down by pulling on the draw rope. This is much used by servants for quick travel up and downand occasionally by patrons for pranks and quick exits. On at least one occasion, it has been used for murder: A patron in an upper room was noosed by a foe and then hurled down the shaft! Tales are told of the apparition of his hanged, dangling body, face a bare skull, being seen in the shaft late on dark nights but such tales are usually told by those who’ve had a bit too much to drink. The Prospect - The Kegs is a cozy place, furnished with old furniture from a dozen keeps and many simpler homes. The dusty heads of trophy elk and creatures of the deep hang on the walls, crowding for space amid old and faded paintings of elven hunts and human knights battling dragons and each other, or courting various maidens. Where there aren’t paintings, there are bookshelves crammed with old diaries, travel books, collections of ballads and legends, and grand and overblown histories of heroes. Regular patrons snooze and read the days away, rousing themselves from time to time for a glass of wine, mug of broth, or a game of dice, cards, or shove-skittles. Both the wine and the broth are excellent, but they, along with ice water and dark and nutty malt bread, are the only fare to be had in the place. The thick beastskin rugs, paneling, books, and tapestries absorb sound. The Kegs is a quiet place. Come here for a reasonable and comfortable rest, a haven against the bustle of business or adventure. Patrons are asked to keep their weapons in their rooms, and not to bring drinkables in with them inside or outside their bodies. Drunks often awaken in the morning to find themselves sleeping out back in the hay pile by the kitchen door. The innkeeper is a tall, quiet man with a mane of long, curly black hair and a sword scar that runs from his nose diagonally across one cheek. His name is Nantrin Bellowglyn, and he’s a Tethyrian noble’s retired guard who fled that land when its civil strife erupted and his lord was slain. He has a staff of four daughters and hired help: a bags boy, a hostler, and three serving wenches. These wenches were huntresses in Tethyr, and at least one of them, Ithtyl Calantryn, is a sorceress expert in levitation and shielding spells. On more than one occasion, I’m told, she’s calmly hurled would-be thieves and troublesome brawling patrons bodily out of the innsometimes by way of a third floor window. The Provender - As I have said, the Kegs serves simple fare. Most folk go elsewhere for main meals. The Prices - A stay at the Kegs costs you 5 sp per night per person, stabling included. Rooms for up to four folk are available, but there’s no discount for sharing a room. A plate of bread and as much ice water as one wants are included. More food and drink costs an extra 1 cp per plate, and all extra wine is 6 cp per tallglass. The only other extra charge is for hot baths (3 cp per person). Cold baths and laundry service are included in room rates. Travelers’ Lore - The Kegs is said to contain a secret passage linking it with a dockside warehouse and a sewer shaft that comes to the surface near the Black Dragon Gate. Somewhere along this passage is a lime pit where folk can quietly dispose of bodies (100 gp per corpse) by arrangement with some one who can be contacted through Nantrin.7 Adventurers and pokers about-after-secrets had best not get on the bad side of Nantrin, it is rumored, or they may find themselves searching the pit while asleep, as it were.